


Mud and Whiskey

by unadulteratedhacylover



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Drinking, Flirting, M/M, Minor Angst, Originally Posted on LiveJournal, Post-Star Trek (2009), Slash, cowboy Kirk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-19
Updated: 2021-01-19
Packaged: 2021-03-17 07:48:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28845588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unadulteratedhacylover/pseuds/unadulteratedhacylover
Summary: All McCoy wanted was a little peace and quiet.
Relationships: James T. Kirk/Leonard "Bones" McCoy
Comments: 2
Kudos: 24





	Mud and Whiskey

**Author's Note:**

> I originally wrote this fic for chronometric 's 4 elements challenge on LiveJournal back in 2010. Someone recently liked one of my posts and I went back on and was scrolling through old posts when I saw this. It's one of my favorite fics I've written so I knew I had to share it again. I chose the element earth, though there's a little fire thrown in for good measure. Written around the 1-hour mark.

“What did you do? Roll around in the mud?”  
  
McCoy leans back in his chair, crosses his legs at the ankle and takes a swig of his whiskey. He watches Jim climb down off his horse, blue jeans and white shirt practically unrecognizable under the layers of dirt and mud. There’s no sarcastic reply, no cocky grin and the silence is unnerving. He’s been nothing but Chatty Cathy since they arrived here almost a week ago.  
  
All McCoy wanted was a little peace and quiet. The incident with Nero had taken a toll on all of them. But one glimpse of Jim’s face across the hall during debriefing and he knew the other man didn’t want to be alone. So, he invited him to the backwoods of Tennessee to the cabin he’d rented and had come this close to regretting the words ever since.  
  
Of course Jim had been his usual self: flirting with everything on two legs, inserting sexual innuendo into every conversation and talking non-stop. McCoy had to refrain himself from shoving a gag into the man’s mouth to get a moment of that peace and quiet he came out here looking for in the first place.  
  
And then he went off this morning for a ride and it was like his wish had come true. He came back like this.  
  
A few minutes later, Jim saunters up the stairs of the porch, swipes the tumbler of whiskey from McCoy’s fingers and plops himself down in the chair next to him. He can’t keep his eyes from following Jim’s hand as he tries to brush some of the dirt off his thighs, each sweep simultaneously bringing Kirk’s fingers and his eyes _there_.  
  
“Like what you see, Bones?”  
  
Jim opens his legs a little wider and shifts his hips, giving McCoy a clear view of the bulge at the front of his pants. When he looks up, he finds Kirk smirking at him beneath hooded lashes.  
  
“Just give me that, will you?”  
  
He snatches the glass from Jim’s hand and downs the remaining whiskey in one quick swallow. He can feel the younger man’s eyes on him and forces himself not to wince as the potent liquid burns its way down his throat.  
  
“Stop looking at me like that,” he nearly growls.  
  
He needs to put some distance between them. He can feel it building. It’s been building all week and at this rate, he’s going to spontaneously combust from holding it all inside.  
  
McCoy stands and walks over to the railing. The sun is setting on the horizon, a blazing orange ball of fire and he thinks, Yeah, that’s exactly what it feels like.  
  
“And how am I looking at you?” Jim’s breath ghosts against the nape of his neck and he can feel the heat radiating off his body in waves. He didn’t even hear him get up, but he’s there, standing too close for McCoy’s comfort.  
  
“Like I’m one of your conquests,” he says bitterly. When it comes to Jim Kirk, he wants all or nothing. He couldn’t have him any other way. But he doesn’t tell Jim this. Just keeps staring at the sun, hoping it will blind him and he won’t have to see the look of rejection in Jim’s eyes when he realizes what he’s really saying. He chucks the tumbler out into the yard, watching as it splinters into a million tiny pieces. He wishes he could do the same.  
  
Jim’s lips brush against McCoy’s neck and he feels his resolve slipping.  
  
“I’ve wanted you for a long time, Bones. From the moment you sat down next to me on that shuttlecraft and threatened to throw up all over me. It’s all been leading up to this.”  
  
McCoy closes his eyes, bright white spots dancing behind his eyelids, whether from the sun or Jim, he can’t tell. And when he turns to face him, there’s something different in his eyes, something he’s never seen before.  
  
And then Jim kisses him.  
  
He’s all mud and whiskey, earthy smell mixed with alcohol and sweat and Jim’s own personal perfect taste. McCoy feels like liquid fire is being poured through his veins and he tangles his hands in Jim’s hair in an effort to steady himself. He feels the flakes of dried mud between his fingers and hesitates then thinks, _Fuck it_. He’s already thinking what it would be like to strip the clothes from Jim’s body and see to it that every streak of mud is wiped clean from that smooth delicious skin.  
  
It’s as if Jim can hear the wheels turning in his head. He lifts a finger and gently swipes it down the bridge of McCoy’s nose. He watches with childlike curiosity until Jim lifts his finger and shows him the streak of dirt covering it.  
  
“Dammit, Jim!”  
  
He soundly kisses McCoy on the lips then turns and slips through the screen door. Slowly, he strips off his muddy shirt and tosses it to the floor.  
  
“You coming, Bones?” he says, the words coming out in that deep timbre Jim uses when he's aroused.  
  
“I will be soon,” he mutters as he steps inside and follows him into the bedroom. 


End file.
